Tom's Poetry

Orphans

sometimes they’ll sprout in your yard
with white faces, seemingly drained of life,
and it will seem as if they’re sleeping
for a very long time
with light pulses traveling thru a thousand
corded fibers
that extend perhaps from a nostril
or possibly the corner of an eye
or an infected hole in a cheek filled with puss

but then the eyes will open & stare at you,
without expression on the face
but still somehow quite sad
with their chins in the moist soil
and their hair matted & tangled from lack of washing
and their mechanical parts in tedious repetitive motions

most of them are children
and sometimes they’ll grow thru a crack
in your basement wall
and you can’t pull them out because
their roots are deep
and you’d kill them if you cut off their
food tubes or electrical supply
and if you try to hurt them, they’ll make a muted
scream that rips at your heart